My Name is Adrian

My name is Adrian, and I cannot sleep.

I see his shadow behind me. He is standing behind me… or is he?

I imagine his voice. That deep, booming baritone lets everyone know that he was born to be the King. He is gone, but I still hear it.

There is darkness all around me. I am alone in my room. Why do I still hear the voice? I cannot hear his words. It is like a deep, humming sound…

“My Lord? Are you here?”

No one answers.

I only see hazy shadows in my chambers, as my pupils adjust to the light.

I have barely slept a few minutes tonight, and some form of deep terror is keeping me awake. My heart is pounding in my chest.

Before I tell you more about myself, I must introduce you to the man I have served all my life. He is King Pherid, our ruler and supreme leader since the year 1978. He was only seven years old when his father, King Zeult, breathed his last. In today’s world, where governments are formed and destroyed within days, he has ruled as our monarch for the past forty years.

Our country was in turmoil at that time. Months before his father’s death, there were rumours that the King was offering favours to influential criminals. There was a coup… and King Zeult coincidentally passed away that same year from a heart disease. Or had he been murdered?

In any case, our King Pherid then took the throne, at the tender age of seven.

I have been by his side ever since. We were friends, brothers, companions… I served as his chief counselor once we both came of age.

And now, he is gone. After forty years, my King is also dead.

Once his father had died, King Pherid was the only surviving member of the Royal family. His mother had died in childbirth, and neither he nor his father had any siblings. The burden of being ruler of the nation could not be passed on to anyone else.

He was a reluctant King. He had never wished for the throne.

I recall our initial years, when we had travelled the world together. We had been around the mountains in Asia, the deserts in South America and through bustling cities all over the world. King Pherid had been happy.

Those times are far gone.

There is only darkness now. I am within the walls of the King’s castle, lying awake. We performed the King’s last rites earlier in the day.

Then why do I still hear his voice?

My room is dark. Our chambers are gigantic. There are no other people here. Do I see someone walking in the blackness, in the distance?

Does my King still command me?

I can feel my feet going cold. My palms feel sweaty. Should I remove the covers, and walk up to the corner of my room? Do I see a shadow in the darkness?

“My King?” I shouted out loud.

It is 3.45AM. I am still awake… is he here?

“No… no… he is dead,” I tell myself.

Horrifying thoughts come to my mind.

Our King had been a handsome young man, but there was something that had forced him to retreat from the public eye long ago. In his childhood, he had been fond of fire. I shudder to recall the incident…

He had been burned… He was beyond recognition.

He had to live behind a mask, and elaborate garments for the rest of his life. He had lived behind a beautiful silver mask, adorned with inscriptions in the ancient Ildean tongue, the language of our forefathers.

What if… in the afterlife… the shadow I see around me… is his natural, grotesque form?

I had not seen his face for over twenty years.

I had been with him the most of all attendants in the castle. I was his most trusted advisor and friend. Yet, I never saw any portion of his face for decades… with the exception of his eyes.

Those sparkling, blue eyes. The iris would either not bother to look at you… and ordinary subject. But when the King saw you, he saw through you. His gaze would not waver, and he would command me.

“Adrian, my brother,” King Pherid had said to me a week ago. “The revolution is coming. They are after my throne.”

His voice was shaking, and his arms trembled as he moved them to gesture the threat that was looming over us. His deep tone had deteriorated into the whimpers of an old man.

Still in his forties, it was a pain to see our King wither away due to the illness that was gnawing away at his internal organs.

“Do not worry, your Majesty,” I had said. “We have made preparations for the assault on the enemy. We know what they are planning.”

King Pherid had shaken his head vigorously, and claimed: “No… no… you do not know what is coming. My father is alive. He is the one leading the rebels. He would like to usurp my authority.”

“I know, your Majesty. My intelligence sources have informed me of this treachery. You must rest.”

That had been my last conversation with the King.

Today, we laid his body to rest.

I cannot take this darkness any more.

“Is anyone there?”

The clock says 5:15AM. I cannot wait for daylight to relieve me of this terror.

I have lived in this castle for far too long. The King and I were the only ones to inhabit this portion of the castle. We had our privacy.

However, now that he is gone, I still see him.

Will daylight bring me respite?

When we were returning to the castle from his funeral, I thought I heard his voice.

A shadowy figure was following me.

I used my phone to light a torch in the room.

“Is anyone there?”

I cannot take the fear any more.

“I have to stay awake,” I tell myself. “If I sleep… he will come back.”

At long last, it is 7AM now. I have an appointment I must not miss. It is with the Royal physician, a doctor named David. I must inform him of these visions. Why am I still seeing the King, after he is gone?

Is there some mental ailment I am suffering from?

I see Doctor David, as he walks into my chambers, dressed sharply.

“Good morning,” says the doctor as he takes his seat at my study table. “Have you slept well?”

I know Dr David is an intelligent man. He can see from my eyes that I appear as if I have seen a ghost.

However, my position of authority is dependent on my mental sanity. I must conceal all signs of my disease. I must not show my weakness.

“Good morning, Doctor. Yes, I have slept a couple of hours. I had trouble sleeping.”

“Really?”

The doctor began pouring himself some tea, but I could see him looking at me from the corner of his eye. He is sly. He thinks I do not see that every moment with him is spent under scrutiny.

He is evaluating my mental health.

“Yes. I had a… rough night.”

“Why so?”

“I suppose it is not abnormal? We were at a funeral yesterday, so maybe it is just… thoughts… and memories.”

“A funeral? Really?”

The doctor sat down opposite me, with an all-knowing smile. I was feeling enraged.

“Come on now, I know all your tricks, doctor. You are trying to test my memory.”

“We went to a funeral yesterday. You were… there…”

Was he there? I could not recall anyone else there. The King, even in death, commanded all of my attention.

I only remember the King’s lifeless eyes. His body… burning…

“My Lord, this is why I am here to see you,” said Dr. David, “I regret to inform you that you are suffering from dissociative identity disorder. My Lord… King Pherid is alive.”

“He is alive??”

I closed my eyes. I did not want to hear what the doctor wanted to say next.

“My Lord, there is no man named Adrian. You are King Pherid.”